T.H.U.G. L.I.F.E.

by Sanyika Shakur

  “Well, it’s just that I was noticing the convenience of the gun on Dawson. The cozy nature of you with the rampart cowboys. Just a series of good luck breaks we’ve been getting here lately. I just have come to know how these cases come together and it’s not at all like this.”

  “Jess, I don’t know what to tell you. I mean—”

  “Tell me the fuckin’ truth! That’s what you tell me. I’m your fuckin’ partner for chrissakes!” Mendoza shouted and pulled furiously on his mustache.

  “You need to calm down, Jess. Relax.There’s nothing wrong going on. You’re uptight about nothing, really. Hell, you’re the one always barking about these criminals getting away with bargains for pleas—what the fuck?”

  “You know damn well what I mean. Yes, fuck letting these parasites take deals on dead bang cases. I am one hundred percent against that. But also, I am a sworn public servant of this city. And what’s more, John, I am a minority. And I’ve grown up with racism and abuses of power, wealth, and privilege perpetrated against minorities. And I may be an officer of the law, but I will not bend that law to fit a profile. I won’t be a part of anything like that.You know and I know those cowboys at Rampart are filthy. And the shit going to come down on them. I don’t want it to fall this way.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about that, Jess. I have a job to do and I am going to do that job. I am on the side of law and order. If in my capacity I have to bend a law to maintain order for the betterment of this city and its taxpaying citizens, I’m very well going to do that. Not saying I have in this case or ever before, but my goodness I will.” Sweeney wiped his sweating brow.

  “Well I am telling you, John, I won’t.” Mendoza threw a handful of ranch corn nuts into his mouth and crunched loudly.

  Lapeace pressed the MUTE button on the remote and sat back on the sofa. No one said a thing. Tashima had her eyes closed but her bare foot was rubbing up and down Lapeace’s lower leg. It was a good feeling, a loving touch of support and affection. Aunt Pearl had her legs crossed at the ankles and was rocking to and fro. She looked worried.

  “So,” Lapeace spoke and broke the awful silence, “you’ve heard my side and that, my dear ladies, was their side! I am, to them, a one-dimensional ‘gang member.’ A ‘principal shooter.’ Even when they say ‘mister,’ it’s like a mockery. I was defending my life,” he concluded with some determination.

  “You don’t have to convince us of that, Lapi. I know you are not some mad dog killer. Come here.” Aunt Pearl had her arms open wide and Lapeace leaned over into her warm embrace and closed his eyes tight.

  “Don’t you worry ’bout them filthy ol’ pigs. They’ve been castigatin’ us since 332 B.C. Ain’t nobody worried ’bout them.” Aunt Pearl soothed him against her bosom.

  “Peace, why don’t you call Safi back and see what he says about this?”

  “It’ll be the same thing from earlier. He told me not to get caught up in the sensationalism of the press conference. The press conference is one thing, a court of law is another. What they ain’t say is that Anyhow is brain dead . . .”

  “What?” Aunt Pearl asked confounded.

  “Yep, he cut his wrist in a suicide attempt and lost so much blood, he had some kind of stroke. He’s messed up. He’s no suspect, he told them I was tryin’ to kill him.”

  “What . . . how do you know this?” asked Aunt Pearl.

  “Safi told me. Anyhow is a vegetable right now.They’ll need to manufacture some witnesses. Either that or . . . ” Lapeace tore off the ending of his sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Aunt Pearl’s astuteness.

  “Or what, Lapi? Huh, you better go on and tell me the whole truth, baby. Or what?” she demanded

  “Keep it clean, Peace,” Shima counseled, looking directly at him.

  “Naw, it’s just that durin’ the . . . course of me defending myself, some of the homies, cats from my squad, were videofilmin’ the whole thing.”

  “Oh my goodness,” gasped Aunt Pearl, “ancestors help me!”

  “No, it’s not that bad. Aunt Pearl, listen,” Lapeace cautioned. “I have the tape. Nobody got it. I sent it away to a squad member in the sticks.”

  “The sticks?” she asked.

  “Down south, Mississippi.”

  “The NationalTerritory, New Afrika,” Aunt Pearl corrected him. She spoke with dignity.

  “Yes,” Lapeace conceded. “New Afrika.”

  “Very good. Now, what does your attorney, this Safi character, have to say?”

  “He suggests I turn myself in.”

  “He what? ” shouted both Tashim and Aunt Pearl in unison.

  “He says it’ll be better to get this on and over with. We have good grounds, he says, and plus it’s best to go in on my own than to risk them killing or injuring me in a hunt. Plus, I wouldn’t want to contaminate you two with all this. Goodness knows I’m going to need y’all.”

  “So you’re actually thinking about turning yourself in, Babes? I mean, you’ve come to a conclusion already?” Shima asked, a bit alarmed and perturbed.

  “I am thinkin’ ’bout it, yes. I don’t want to live on the run. I have a life. I don’t want Bob Hope freezin’ my accounts, doin’ no-knock raids on your house, sweatin’ your company. I can’t live like that. I like to be outside in the sun. I wanna hold my children. I need to be free. Or none of this will mean shi . . . nothing.”

  “Damn, this is all so crazy.” Tashima felt depressed.

  “I know . . . I know.”

  Lapeace got up early on Friday. He needed to tie up all the loose ends and put his business affairs in order. Sekou came over early and they held counsel. He’d be Lapeace’s go-to man in his absence. He spoke at length with his accountant and broker. He conveyed to Sekou all that needed attention. Sekou left, taking Aunt Pearl with him, against her mighty protests. It was best this way. She’d stay at his house during Lapeace’s stay in the county. He’d been told by Safi not to expect a bail. Sekou had left him with a “survival kit” to take along with him. With things squared in his favor he united with Tashima in her room.

  They held each other for a long, long time. Lapeace held her face in his big hands and kissed her full, delicious lips. Their tongues played lightly in each other’s mouths and Lapeace’s right hand rested at the curve of her neck. He manipulated her silky skin softly. They each moaned their lustful excitement. Tashima’s little manicured hands found his zipper and fumbled to undo his fly. They broke their embrace and began to disrobe quickly, Lapeace down to his bare essence and Shima down to a matching pink panty and bra set. They hugged again and spoke their love for each other.

  Lapeace’s erection was up between Shima’s breasts as she closed them together and masturbated him warmly. He grinded against her and she held her breast’s tight against his swollen shaft. Unable to last much longer, Lapeace broke the embrace and peeled her out of her dainty little pink panties. He took his time over her voluptuous ass and thick, shapely legs. At her gorgeous feet she stepped out of them. He laid her on the bed and began at her feet and licked and nibbled his way up to her knees. He licked and nibbled all around her legs, paying special attention to the area behind her knees. She moaned and sighed in lust and ecstasy.

  He licked her inner thighs and kissed her wonderful black skin. Before reaching her secret garden, he rolled her over and lavishly licked her shapeful cheeks. He took his time as if attempting to taste every inch of her body. He pulled apart her lovely gluts and licked and nibbled her nether world. She tasted delightful and moaned exquisitely against his magic touches. Having left a saliva trail all over her, he went for her temple, exploring gently with his sensitive tongue. Shima delighted in his technique and awareness. He was so gentle that she could not believe it. She felt his love with every touch, lick, nibble, and bite.

  They made love slowly and easily. Wild and open, free and gentle. Then hard and rough, deep and strong, over and over and then over again.

  At 3:45 p.m., Lapeace and Tashima
laid closely in her bed. She’d not been to work in four days. So what. They touched and listened to Ramona and Kody play together outside under the window. It was quiet and peaceful. Lapeace suggested they watch the news at 4:00 p.m.

  Shima got up to get refreshments and Lapeace turned to Channel 7’s Eyewitness News. The broadcaster came on with a solemn face.

  “We are getting breaking news at this hour from Las Vegas, Nevada, that rapper Askari Shakur, shot in Wednesday’s drive-by ambush, has died. Doctors, it’s reported, did all they could to save the injured rap star, but today their efforts were not enough. Again, actor and rapper Askari Shakur is dead at twenty-five.”

  Tashima came padding in and found Lapeace sitting up on the end of her bed with a steady flow of tears streaming down his dark face. His eyes were wet and sad. Putting down the lemonade on the nightstand, she rushed to his side.

  “What is it, baby? Why are you cryin’?”

  “Askari died today, they said. That’s fucked up . . .”

  “Oh no,”Shima cried and felt the tears wall up in her eyes. “Oh, this is so sad. Such a loss for us. I’m so sorry, Lapeace, I really am.” She held his head to hers and they cried together.

  “Yeah,” he said, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, “I know . . .”

  “In related news, authorities out of Devore are investigating the shooting deaths of two Bloods members along Highway Fifteen. Police say the shootings appear to be somehow related with the shooting of rapper Askari Shakur, though they refuse to say how. These deaths are also believed to be connected to a string of shootings in Compton that since the Las Vegas shooting of Shakur have left more than twelve people dead.”

  “Damn, a lot of people are dying behind this shit. Whew,” said Tashima.

  “Yeah, it’s a mess.”

  “You are going in, aren’t you, Babes? Tell me.”

  “Yeah, I am. I feel it’s best. The sooner begun, the sooner done. I just want this over. And then, I want to get my sons back. So much to do.”

  Sweeney thought he was dreaming when Mendoza brought him the news.

  “You’re shitting me, right?” he asked, jumping out of his seat.

  “No, man, I’m not. The captain just told me he and his attorney are supposed to be en route now to Parker Center. Can you believe that?”

  “To surrender?”

  “Yep.”

  “Un-fucking-believable. This is a first, huh? I mean, what banger turns himself in?”

  “Either a rich and confident one or a stupid and scared one. By all accounts Shakur doesn’t appear to be the latter.”

  “Shit, I don’t care. I just want to clear this case. We’d better get on down to headquarters, huh?”

  “You bet, partner. You bet.”

  16

  As soon as Safi and Lapeace pulled to a stop in front of Parker Center the black 600 Benz was swarmed with reporters jockeying for a word from Lapeace or his attorney. It was a virtual stampede as reporters and journalists alike literally ran over one another in expectation of a word or an interview.

  “Did you kill eight people on Crenshaw?”

  “Are you remorseful for the lost lives?”

  “Is it true you are admitting to being involved in the Crenshaw massacre?”

  “Are you a leader of the Eight Tray Gangster Crips?”

  On and on the questions came from men and women, black and white. “No comment. My client has no comment, thank you,” Safi informed the jostling crowd of rude reporters. Still, they harassed the pair all the way to the front doors of the jail. There, two patrol officers took control of Lapeace and walked him, holding his arms, to booking front. Other officers, detectives, and jailers stood lining the hallway gawking at him and Safi.

  They were led down a corridor and Safi was asked to stay put in an anteroom while Lapeace was taken through the rigors of booking. Fingerprints, photos, and questions about his birth-date, address, sexual preference, and if he had any safety concerns while in the county. He was fitted with a red wristband with “K-10,” his name, and the county jail number typed on it. He was not treated roughly. He was allowed to keep his own clothes and shoes, though he knew this would change once he got to L.A. County jail. Parker Center, while headquarters for the LAPD, is also the L.A. city jail. All departments around L.A. were substations. Parker Center was also called the Glass House because of all the windows with the mirror tints facing the streets.

  Once booking was done and he was officially charged with murder—eight counts—he was led down a corridor and posited in an interview room. He was soon joined by Safi. The door opened again and in came Mendoza, chewing corn nuts and carrying his black leather notebook. He was followed by Sweeney, bald head glistening, a sinister smile painted on his pasty face.

  “Good evening men,” Sweeney said, pulling his chair out and sitting down.

  “Hello,” said Safi. Lapeace said nothing. Mendoza stared across the steel table at Lapeace. Lapeace, not batting an eye, stared back.

  “Okay,” sighed Sweeney with a huge exhale of air. “Well, I am John Sweeney and this is my partner, Jesse Mendoza.” Mendoza nodded his greetings.

  “We are the detectives on this case. We’d like to ask you, Mr. Shakur, for a statement regarding these charges.” Sweeney sat poised with his pen ready to write.

  “I am exercising my right to remain silent,” Lapeace stated. He said it evenly and clearly.

  “Hmmm, well, is there anything you want to get off your chest or . . .”

  “I am exercising my right to remain silent,” Lapeace repeated.

  “Well,” Sweeney began, switching tactics, “some of your homeboys have sung a sweet song against you. Yep,” he said, trying to make it sound really awful, “we have a couple of corroborating witnesses who are putting you at the scene as the shooter. What have you to say for yourself ?”

  “I am exercising my right to remain silent,” Lapeace repeated again.

  “Well, then, you will be happy to know—”

  “This interview is over, gentlemen,” said Safi. “I’d like to have my client lodged in his sleeping quarter, please.”

  Sweeney sat in stunned silence against the interruption and nerve of this pompous attorney. He’d never been talked to like this. But there was little he could do because, by law, the accused had the due process rights to terminate an interview with the exercising of his right to remain silent. Sweeney slapped his notepad shut and scooted his chair back loudly. He drilled a hole through Lapeace with his eyes.

  “We’ll see you in court, Mister Shakur.”

  Sweeney and Mendoza left the room and Safi patted Lapeace lightly on the arm. “You did good, brother. You did good. Now, keep that same attitude. Don’t speak to no one about your case at County. Don’t write any letters except to me. You write your letters and send them to me in legal mail. I’ll send them where they need to go.Trust no one. Keep your nose clean. I’ll be down to see you on a legal visit Monday. I’ll let you know where we stand. You’ll more than likely go to court Tuesday.We’ll talk Monday, okay?”

  “Aight, Safi. I’m with you. I just want it to be over with. Can you find out who that is he’s talking about singin’ on me?”

  “Sure.We’ll file for discovery and all that. Sit tight, Lapeace. We’ll win.”

  “I believe that, man. That’s why I’m here.”

  “All right, I’ll go. I’ll have this five hunderd dollars deposited in your account tonight. You have all my numbers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good night, then, Lapeace. See you Monday.”

  Safi left and Lapeace was momentarily alone in the interview room. Surprisingly he didn’t feel bad for turning himself in. He had a top-flight attorney and he was sitting on $350,000. All legal. And this was just what was in his savings account. He had bonds, blue chips, IRAs, and property. What he didn’t have was his freedom. That was the struggle now.

  Two officers came and retrieved Lapeace. They took him out the back of th
e jail to a waiting unmarked vehicle and seated him inside. The officers fell into a police caravan of some four cars and an SUV. They pulled away from Parker Center and headed toward the Los Angeles County jail. Lapeace rested his head against the backseat and closed his eyes.

  He thought about Askari. So much wasted energy. He thought about Sekou. So much vested loyalty. He thought about Tashima. Such a reservoir of love. He thought about Aunt Pearl. Such a strong soul. He thought about himself. Such a rebel spirit with a curious mind. He needed to find his niche. He had an uphill battle, but he had faith that his mission was bigger than this. This was not his destiny. Somehow in his heart of hearts he knew this.

  The caravan of police vehicles turned onto Bauchet Street heading for the County’s intake area. At an electric chain-link fence marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, they sat idle while their ID was checked. The gate opened at a snail’s pace before the space was big enough for a car to pass through.

  Inside he was put into a cold, dingy holding cell. He’d been handed off to the custody of the Los Angeles sheriff ’s department a half hour earlier.

  “Shakur. Inmate Shakur. Last three four-six-seven. Where are you?”

  “Over here,” Lapeace yelled. “Over here.”

  The voice came from a speaker mounted against the wall in the hall outside the cell.

  “Where?” said the metallic, detached voice through the speaker.

  “Over here!” Lapeace was at the cell gate hollering through the bars.

  “Well that’s where your black ass will stay. Just checking.”

  The prisoners in the adjoining cells all roared with laughter at the little joke made by the deputies in the intake booth. Lapeace walked to the back of the dirty holding cell and brooded in silence. Here we go, he thought to himself, games being played at my expense. He steeled himself against such foolishness but was human nonetheless. With the loss of his individual freedom he knew he’d also lost much of his strength to affect any meaningful change. His care and welfare largely depended on the mental health of his captors. Some in law enforcement came equipped with a cold reptilian blood flow and used the philosophy of white supremacy as a sword and shield against any perceived threat, real or imagined. He knew he’d need to grow a thick layer of armor to withstand any transgressions. An hour passed and he was escorted to a rectangular glassed-in space with about twenty other prisoners. All were Mexicano and New Afrikan.